This Means War
by BarbieGrim
Summary: Born-in-the-wrong-decade, 22 year-old Rafaela "Rae" Leone finds herself in an ideal predicament for herself - sent to the year 1987 in the Murder Capital of the World, with the infamous Lost Boys. Rae has the chance to change their fate and wage war on the Frog Brothers, if she can get the merciless, homicidal leader David on her side. Will he listen, or will she be his dinner?
1. Chapter 1

Ch.1

"I don't care how old he is, I'd climb him like a tree." My friend Daniela relished.

The three of us laughed at the way she yearned over Tommy Lee, the Motely Crue drummer. We stumbled out of the arena, inebriated definitely, giggling and wobbling our way to the crowded parking lot. The night air was perfection for a concert, coolly greeting hot skin after hours of sweating in a packed arena.

Approaching our cars I asked Amanda, "Will you be okay to drive her home?"

Amanda and Daniela leaned on each other to keep from toppling over. "Yeah, I got it," Amanda waved casually, a slight slur in her speech.

I wasn't convinced. Though I had no business making any judgments, I was just as tanked. I fumbled my keys before finding the right button to unlock my car and slid on my ankle trying to get in the driver's seat. My knee-high leather boots were not compatible with margaritas. Daniela passed out in Amanda's backseat, and I shouted out the window for Amanda to text me when they made it home.

I clicked on the stereo for some tunes to keep myself awake, acting as sober as I could. Motley Crue boisterously picked up from the song during the ride up. It served its purpose stimulating my stoned carved memory of lyrics for the concert, and now with the new objective of keeping me vigilant.

I yawned more than a few times on the highway, the metal spikes decorating my leather jacket dug into my back. I was in the middle of fixing it when the sky opened up; the dark freeway became murky in waves of water. High beams shining and wipers on their strongest setting barely made an indent in the black void that lay in front of me. My foot let off the gas as I leaned forward, squinting like it would help me see. I fought off the urge to sleep.

_Tequila, you've done it again._

The increasingly frequent flashes of lightening gave brief glimpses of the road ahead. There did not seem to be anyone else on the highway._ Did I accidentally get off the wrong exit?_ Another clap of lightening and thunder echoed, revealing a tunnel up ahead.

_That wasn't there on my way up._

_At least I didn't think it was. Not one that was carved into a mountain. There was a mountain? How many margaritas did I have again?_

At this point I didn't care where the tunnel led, as long as I got out of this angry storm Poseidon decided unleashing.

"Of all the nights to do this, you choose tonight." I huffed.

I sped up to the cave, wanting desperately to escape the rock-like rain for even a few moments. The music was still blasting; a combination of heavy bass and the storm enough to make this old car shake violently. Almost there, a few more seconds and I'll be in the underpass.

More lightening shot down to the earth like a warped tree branch. I saw ahead, the tunnel gone.

_Gone?! Oh my God, where did it go?_

It was mountain, no opening.

My car was shaking, I quickly realized, because I was driving off road on dirt, rocks and grass. I screamed, flooring the break hard and twisting the wheel with adrenaline-educed force. The car spun, coining into the solid peak unable to slow. I closed my eyes and braced for impact.

Lightening struck my car; a bright illumination flickered on the outside of my eyes and the overbearing resonance of thunder repeated once more before the world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Ch.2

My head hurt. My body was slumped over the wheel.

"Uggh," I gingerly shifted and triggered the earsplitting blare of the car horn. I jerked awake and groaned, not ready to get up. I winced unbuckling the seatbelt. There was a big, sore streak of black and blue across my chest and shoulder. Undoubtedly, this was the only material keeping me from crashing through the windshield into the mountain last night.

The disappearing tunnel. _That mountain_.

Shaking off the last remnants of drowsiness, I frantically looked at my surroundings. There were no signs of a mountain, trees or forest. It was more like a desert of sand and the occasional dried out plant. In the distance the sun glowed orange as it set beyond the horizon.

_Was I out for that long?_ The time read 7:43pm on the car radio. My friends are probably worried I didn't make it home and left a million messages on my cell. I scrimmaged around until I found it wedged between the seats.

Amazingly undamaged, three-fourths of a battery, and no messages.

Not one.

I had no signal; nothing would have been able to come through. I dropped the useless device into the cup holder and huffed. My elbows rested on the steering wheel as I rubbed my temples. I need to figure out where I am and pray I'm not too far outside Jersey. I have work in the morning; I can't afford my boss yelling at me again for being late.

_I don't believe this right now._

Headlights glinted off the rearview mirror and a motor purred, compelling me to turn around and see a vehicle fly by a desolate and dark road. I decided to step out of the car, clinging to the door until my head stopped swimming.

Sand and dirt lay under my feet and the few breezes in the air hinted a mixture of sea-salt and gasoline. To my right stood the back of a large billboard decorated with weeds, and overgrown half-dead plants lined the base. I trudged to the other side hoping for a hint to where I was. Large letters crossed the poster in a sullied, aged white:

**WELCOME TO SANTA CARLA **

That name triggered déjà vu. _Where the hell is Santa Carla?_ I couldn't remember. There was more writing but the neglected wildlife blocked the view. I backed up until the words revealed themselves, and gasped. My stomach knotted and mouth dropped open. This couldn't be right.

**CALIFORNIA, USA.**

_California? How did I wind up in California? This doesn't make sense._ There was no possible way I drove across the country in one night. My thoughts switched to a bigger fright when I noticed the spray painted graffiti added on. In bleeding, bright red was written out:

**MURDER CAPITOL OF THE WORLD**

I ran back in the car and locked the doors. Of all the places to end up, I somehow land in California's homicide city. This can't be happening. This is one horrible alcohol-infused dream and I'm going to wake up in a hospital with minor brain injury. Even _that_ would be better than this.

I waited a few moments, tightly shutting my eyes and struggling to wake up. When that didn't work, and before I went into an all out panic, I gathered my thoughts.

"Okay Rae, think, think…" I mutter quickly, using any attempt to calm down. "I'm in, California…"

_It feels weird to even say._

"At the murder capital of the world…"

_I've never traveled past Pennsylvania_.

"On the side of the road."

Something seemed very familiar. I've seen this place somewhere before, but I couldn't put my finger on it. So, I did the only sensible thing I could think to do; I stuck the keys in the ignition.

The engine only stalled once, but I was soon on the bleak road leading into the town. _Maybe I'll find out why I recognize this place. Or at least find a phone to call home. Nobody is going to believe this. _

I was right about one thing – no one was going to believe where, and when, that strange lightening bolt brought me.


	3. Chapter 3

Ch. 3

The boardwalk seemed to be the heart of the town. For tourists, anyway.

I consciously made the decision to check out the area, only after seeing the crowds of teenagers and people similar to my age. Crowds made me comfortable, years of moshing and partying at concerts will do that to a person.

I parked my car under a streetlight besides other jeeps and cars. Before venturing out I switched my sweaty white tank top to a white Harry Potter t-shirt I had tucked away. Lucky for me I go everywhere prepared; never know when I will be sleeping at my girl friend's house or staying the night somewhere aside from my apartment. In my trunk I carry around one blow-up mattress fully equip with a pillow and blanket, and an overnight bag with essential toiletries and a few sets of extra clothes. This particular Harry Potter shirt matched nicely with my spiked leather jacket, the black writing of the shirt reading, "_I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good_" proudly on the front. The jeans and high leather boots are good for one more night so those stood on as I walked onto the busy boardwalk.

"Promenade?" I said reading the sign out loud. _I know this place._ The thought pestered my memory. _I've seen it before somewhere._

There was still no cell service. I whacked the back of my phone thinking it was broken, preoccupied to the point where I almost missed the colossal pinup board littered with pictures. Faces of people young and old coated the panel three or four times, each photo displaying a similar message: MISSING - HAVE YOU SEEN ME? These people, hundreds of them, were missing person's cases. I paid specific attention to time, dating back to the 1960's. The graffiti was not lying. If this is true, and all these people are missing, then Santa Carla has a high running in the murder capitol. Nobody was discriminated against; tall, short, male, female, young, old, black, white, blue and purple were all unfortunate victims of the city. All the more reason for me to get out of here, and fast.

With thoughts of the possible fates for the missing sprinting circles in my mind, I almost overlooked the bizarre styles worn by these teens. Initially catching my eye was a couple: the man wearing cargo pants and torn leather vest and the woman wearing high-waist denim shorts, a pink bathing suit top and denim jacket.

The pants I understand. Every piece of fashion makes a comeback sooner or later; those types of pants were on the rise as of late. But the denim jacket? Jean outfits are still a trend of the past. What really got me was the mop of black hair on the man donned with a streak of white. It reminded me of a skunk. And the woman portrayed flared out, beach worn blonde.

_Greg and Shelly._

Those names rang in my head, and I had no idea why. Did I know them or did my subconscious give them identities?

I followed them curiously, slipping my phone into my jacket pocket. The more people I saw the more peculiar things got.

Was that a perm? Was that a _guy _with a perm?

Shirts tucked tightly into waist-high pants. Big blown-out hair, _with_ hair bands. Leotards. Guys wearing short heeled boots.

California certainly had its own fashion.

And not a single person revealed a cell phone.

_Probably because the lack of service. I won't get my hopes up about Wifi, either. _

In the distance a tiny store caught my eye. The name "Video Max" shone bright above the entrance. Again I felt the sense of recognition.

_No way are those tapes. _

Greg and Shelly, the couple I have dubbed so, headed on a large carousel in a loveseat. Among the many diversely colored horses and benches I found a sturdy white and gold steed. Loosely gripping the pole I was nervous my appearance seemed silly because of the extravagant robust look of my outfit, then I peered around at the style of these people and snickered.

A small group of guys joined Greg's party, his gang loitering, rowdy and louder than the children. Their clothes were congruent like they had one closet. Jeans or leather jackets, seldom any shirt underneath, bandanas covered their sleeves and board shorts that were way outdated.

"Surf Nazis," I said out loud reading the patch on the jackets.

I blinked. The lighthearted music warped into a fade and time slowed.

_Surf Nazis._

_Oh my God, I know who they are. That's why this all seems so damn familiar. _

The boardwalk. Video Max. Santa Carla. _Surf Nazis._

I clutched my horse's pole to keep from fainting off. Waves of clarity rushed my brain. It all made sense.

My iphone has no signal because it hasn't been invented yet.

These outfits aren't outdated; they're at the peak of fashion.

I'm not in the wrong state; I'm in the wrong _time._

This is 1987. This is _The Lost Boys_, that autobiography about the crazy Frog Brothers who think they're vampire hunters. I read their book in high school and watched the documentary. Both of which lame and obviously exaggerated.

_There's no such thing as vampires._ _That book was made up._

I sat frozen on my horse, going over the events here and matching them to the fictional novel – at least I thought was fiction.

"If this is really happening," I whispered, "David, Marko, Dwayne and Paul should be coming on the ride right about now."

I whipped around, frantically scanning the crowd for any sign of trouble.

No sign of them, and the ride already started its course. Carnival games sounding in the distance and teens screaming on roller coasters enthralled my attention. Once, twice, three times in a circle before I could breathe again.

"I must still be drunk." I laughed. "Lost boys." I shook my head and rolled my eyes at the silly thought.

Skunk head and blonde, named Greg and Shelly in the book, remained on the bench. Greg attempting to cop a feel wasn't too successful, or subtle, in his endeavor.

The ride began to slow. I ran my fingers through my hair letting out an exasperated breath of air when the floor of the carousel thudded.

My face went pale. I knew because I felt the blood drain down to the pit of my stomach. There, on my right and slightly behind, were the leather-sheathed vampires.


	4. Chapter 4

Hi all! I deeply apologize for the delay. Very busy here - schoolwork, applications and work and whatnot! I appreciate everyone who favorite-ed my story and commented!

I hope this one finds you well. It took me a while because I want to get it right! Thank you again! Update coming within the week.

Ch. 4

This was actually happening. Less than ten feet away the vampires of Santa Carla bounded on the carousel, against the turn. Mixed feelings charged inside, tiny fireworks in my chest. Distinguishing characters only read about, visually seen on a small shaky screen, paled in comparison of the sight appearing before me.

David, an implacable, merciless being, led his pack through the ride like they were on a mission. Intentions of engaging a peaceful journey was naught as David eyed the mass, reminiscent of a stalking predator. The group weaved through the throng of horses and animals pursuing a vigorous prize for conquering.

David's prominent appearance dripped of dominance. A worn black trench coat stretched down his knees above scuffed biker boots. A golden star with five points enclosed in a circle affixed below his left breast. Muscles outlined a dark t-shirt clinging to his fit torso and chains hanging off his pants jangled a foreboding strain. His bleach blonde hair drew the greatest contrast amid his dark clothes, a cigarette behind his ear and a long piece of jewelry swayed below. His youthful face contained the slightest amount of blonde stubble across cheeks holding traces of baby fat. An essence around him lingered both an adolescent and aged charm. Eyes fresh, young and blue as a clear sky hid grim, stormy remnants inferior the surface. I wasn't sure whether to run away like a sane person, or into his arms like a whack-job.

The remaining three members followed suit. Dwayne, a beautifully shaped native and the only one gracing tanned skin, quietly boarded. His presence would not be known unless he made it so. Attention drew to the others before him at his will. Stealth is his gift passed down from tribal ancestors habitually comfortable hunting absent a shirt. Tar black hair waved over the same color leather jacket and relic, hemp wampum necklace – a symbol of legends untold.

Bounding behind was Paul, an eccentric man adorning white jeans, low black tank top and baring almost as much hair on his chest that flowed from his blonde head. A chain of gleaming gold medals lattered his left shoulder clipping to a bottom pocket. A devilish smile tricked the world of inner intentions. Paul read people like a book and decided if the book should be put back on the shelf, or burned.

Finally, a cherub-faced, curly blonde named Marko arrived. His leather jacket landed its own category bearing more colors and patterns than I knew. Odd one out, he displayed a white tank top and blue jeans. Marko's innocent, baby face comforted people never knowing the animal that patiently waited to be released. During the hunts, he is the most violent.

_I must be nuts to think they're actually vampires, _I thought, sense grasping my thoughts for but an instant. _But I have to be sure._ _If I'm _really_ in The Lost Boys, I'll know what they are going to do before they do it. _

Gentle breezes rolling from the ocean sifted the boardwalk. I looked at the Surf Nazis and thought back to the movie.

_The carousel scene. This is where they are introduced. They're going to start a fight with Greg and Shelly then the guard comes over to kick them off…_

I hopped off my horse, purposefully strutting to the loveseat with half a plan.

…_And later, the guard's face is on a missing poster. Because they kill him._

Chills ran down my spine, I surveyed the whereabouts of the Lost Boys, trailing my horse.

I was not about to let some poor schmuck purely doing his job get eradicated.

I had to inaugurate my plan. Rounding the loveseat on Greg's side, I gracelessly pretended an unbalanced slip and fell into his lap.

"Oops, clumsy me," I forged an apologetic guise. "What's your name, handsome?" I wrapped an arm around his shoulder, tossed my legs up on Shelly's lap. Greg soaked up the attention, leering his boys who slyly egged him on.

She didn't like that.

_God, I hope I know what I'm doing. _

"Get your gross stripper boots off me, and your skanky ass away from my boyfriend," She proclaimed, shoving my legs to the floor.

The vampires heard the commotion and gathered near the scene I was about to cause.

_Bingo._

"Make me, bimbo." I antagonized. Standing my full height, a measly 5'7" in these thick heels, I appeared as threatening as possible. My lip scowled, I thrust a hand on my hip, daring her to throw a punch.

She rose and hovered half a foot above me. We stood close enough for me to see the tiniest of scars on her nose, cheeks and chest from various plastic surgeries. Her face was angry, her eyes uneasy. She hadn't been in a fight before. There wasn't a need for her flimsy, artificial body to get in altercations when she had men do it for her. She wasn't going to advance, but I needed her to touch me first. Holding the tense fixation of our eyes, I bent down and whispered to Greg loud enough for the silent crowd to hear, "I bet you're tired of plastic. How about I show you what a real woman feels like."

Loud cheering and jeers echoed from the Nazi's and vampires when I was suddenly shoved backwards, knocking my head on a metal pole. Shelly pursed her lips, thinking she won until my right hook knocked her in the jaw. Before either of us knew, we were in the center of a swarm of boys, beating the living hell out of each other.

I haven't been in too many fights, but I knew enough. Getting the upper hand I straddled Shelly, grabbing two fistfuls of her hair and beat her head against the ground. My face was clawed at and she cracked me in the mouth, busting my lip. I didn't want to hurt her too badly; this had to look real enough for the Lost Boys to believe and save the security guard, who hurried to the excitement. A baton fastened around my neck the way it should have David's, and yanked me off Shelly.

"What's going on here?" He demanded. A loud bell sounded, signaling the end of the ride. In a circle the Surf Nazis silenced, noticing the gang of bikers opposite of them. The security guard eyed the groups for an answer instead of the bruised up girls.

"She attacked me!" Shelly pointed, pretending to be emotionally shattered.

In a struggle to breathe I clamped my hands over the baton and pulled down. This guy was stronger than he looked.

"Oh, don't pop a tit." I spat blood at her feet.

The guard, becoming impatient, and claiming sexist, assumed I belonged to one of the parties.

"You." He pointed his club to David. "Get your little girlfriend off the boardwalk."

He clutched the collar of my jacket, shoving towards David. _Not what I had in mind._

But there they were, those cascading blue eyes piercing daggers through my sapphire orbs.

My mistake? I showed fear, if for half a second before stoning my features.

He clutched that emotion, would use it against me. Balefully he curled a twisted lip, thoughts of what he would do overflowed his imagination. I was the easiest meal he ever had, and after that scuff, promptly tenderized too.

David snaked his arm around my waist, and accompanied the guard's orders. "Okay boys," He motioned, "let's go."

He didn't miss a beat. Protesting was futile; he escorted me to the edge of the merry-go-round. He peered over his shoulder, giving the guard one last, defiant stare. It took all of three seconds for a decision, to weigh the options in his mind. From that I was certain his fate was sealed. David would kill the guard. Life meant little to David for he bears none, and his vigor to steal what he does not have is insatiable.

_If I could stall the guys long enough, maybe he'll forget about the security guard. _I don't know why I was fixated on rescuing this poor man from an unidentified future. Did I really want to save this nameless guard, or did I want to be the vampires' heroine? Without my help, none of them will exist next week. _Play my cards wrong and I will be the one in need of help. _

Dwayne, Marko and Paul gathered at a bench awaiting the return of their leader. To their not-surprise, David arrived with the morsel still in his arm.

"Meet my new girlfriend." David mocked, taking the guard's mistaken identification and running with it. I playfully rolled my eyes, already feeling the bruise in my left.

"My name's Rae," I introduced, wiggling from David's grip and sticking my hands in my back pockets. He leaned against the chain link fence aside Dwayne while the pack of boys evaluated me. There was stillness; I was a piece of meat being inspected for rot. The silence and judgmental stares became almost unbearable, as the three boys wouldn't utter a phoneme until they got the approval. I silently prayed to be deemed worthy. My wardrobe caught this attention; my demeanor needs to land him.

He took a drag of his cigarette pretending to think me over when his decision concluded back on the carousel. Part of his warped game was anticipation. He practiced for years on susceptible girls, boys, men and women while never fully allowing solidity. He mastered the craft of toying with the mind, being capable of pushing, distorting and tiring out even the strongest willed until malleable. His joy rested in demolishing people from the inner trappings of the mind and body, eventually extracting implosion. Only then was he satisfied. The void within him filling quickly like water in a bucket, but depleting with the swiftness of a hole at the bottom. At no time did the satisfaction last, and each time the voracious sensation emerged sooner than the last.

I would not stand to be seen as a poor, pathetic girl to tear down and destroy. That is precisely the way David viewed my presence. Sure, I walked, talked and acted a delinquent, but they were the real deal. My life depended on my ability to prove I was at their level.

"You're Marko, right?" I pointed, not unsure of myself but demanding their attention. "And you're Paul, and Dwayne," I advanced down the line, "and you are David."

A smirk danced on my curved lip, similar to the permanent bend on his. Marko and Paul's face gave away an expression of "how did she know that?" when Dwayne slightly rocked toward David who maliciously smiled.

"We must be famous," He said to his boys. They snickered, shattering any uncomfort built up beforehand.

I smiled, "Oh, you have no idea." A knowing undertone lay within. David caught that.

"Awesome jacket you got there, Rae," Paul nodded at the spikes. "You got a bike?"

"You got a boyfriend?" Dwayne's deep, low voice asked, enticing jeers from the others.

I grinned, regarding the ground and shaking my head. "No, no boyfriend," I chuckled. "No bike either, but I know you have one." I scanned all four of the boys, tempting my sapphire eyes for an invite.

"That we do. Care for a ride?" David spoke, stepping forward. He matched my gaze, two contrasts of eyes wrestling for control.

"Won't your real girlfriend, Star, get upset? And what about Laddie, who will he ride with?"

That did it. I won the match when David blinked, piecing together how I possibly knew that information. He was missing a few parts.

I knew damn well Laddie rides with Dwayne, and Star wasn't here tonight. My mission was to perk their interest enough to keep me around. Paul, who's gift being a human (or vampire) lie detector, concentrated on my words and facial expressions grasping for a falter. Pushing my mind would be futile; I am telling no lies.

David's demeanor turned suspicious. He wanted answers.

"They aren't here tonight. Just us," He motioned the three with a lit cigarette clasped in two gloved fingers, "And you."


End file.
